


The Guard of the Mand'alor

by autisticdindjarin



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, F/M, Fluff, Mand'alor!Din, Mandalorian!Omera, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 14:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autisticdindjarin/pseuds/autisticdindjarin
Summary: Omera was a foundling, taken in by Mandalorians when her family was slaughtered. She never met a certain Mandalorian on Sorgan, but when the Mandalorian throne is claimed by Din Djarin, he is in need of an honor guard. Omera steps up to the challenge.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22
Collections: Mandomera Week 2021





	The Guard of the Mand'alor

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is for Mandomera week, Prompt Bodyguard AU. I liked the idea of switching the usual roles up as well.

Din had been reluctant to agree to the traditional Honor Guard set aside for the _ Mand’alor _ . Bo-Katan talked him into it-  _ bullied _ him into it- eventually, after she suggested he could pick out the warriors himself. To her exasperation, he took that to mean sparring with them  _ himself _ . But by that point Bo-Katan had been well done with negotiation, and let him have his way. Din couldn’t help but be a little smug.

Three had already been approved over the first week. That meant four more to go. Paz was already confirmed, as Din had fought beside him before and knew his skill. They might still butt heads from time to time, but he trusted his  _ vod _ .

The sparring ring today wasn’t as crowded with spectators, which made Din feel more at ease. Mandalorians loved their fights. If they couldn’t participate, they’d happily settle for spectating and cheering on the challengers.. 

Din gripped his beskar spear in one hand. He slowly entered the ring, and his helmet scanned around for his opponent.

The Mandalorian to be tested came into the other side of the ring. They wore orange and blue armor, fully outfitted with a jetpack and whistling birds, though the latter would not be used. Din straightened his posture and nodded towards his fellow Mandalorian. There wasn’t much ceremony to these spars. He didn’t want it to be anything too fancy, just a judgement of skills on his part. He refused to make this into some big spectacle for political gain.

The other Mandalorian nodded back at him, accepting the challenge, and Din moved. His opponent moved fast, side stepping while balancing their weight on their own beskar spear. Din smiled beneath his helmet, a rush filling him as the fight intensified.

They traded blows. Nearly all were blocked by each other, and Din tilted his helmet in another nod of approval. This Mandalorian fought quick on their feet and sharp with their thinking, coming up with clever ways to unbalance Din that had his own mind scrambling to keep up and defend himself.

As the spar continued, his heart pounded hard in his chest, the satisfying thump of knowing he was alive. The ring of beskar hitting beskar sang pure and musical in the air, as if they were performing a symphony with their intricate dance.

They went toe to toe, and the fight kept dragging on. Din growled in frustration at their standoff. No one was getting the upper hand here; if one of them was hit, the other wasn’t too far behind. Every time one had an opening, it was quickly noticed and blocked. By now they both felt the strain of stretched muscles.

Din chuckled in surprise when he tripped over the beskar spear that had sneakily hit the inside of his ankle. He caught it on his own spear and slammed his weight to the side enough to make his opponent stumble in turn. They quickly balanced themselves once more, a picture of Mandalorian grace.

“ _ Jate _ ,” he muttered under his breath, but the other Mandalorian seemed to catch it, nodding.  _ Good.  _ Din deflected several more while the endurance was beginning to wane on both sides. __

“ _ Luubid _ !” Din finally declared.  _ Enough. _ Sweat dripped down his face from under his helmet, and his chest heaved. It satisfied him to see his opponent leaning with hands on their upper thighs and catching their breath as well. They stepped back after a moment and then stood straight with the spear to their side, held vertically.

“I declare a draw. You’re in,” he stated. The other Mandalorian bowed their head in respect and acceptance as scattered applause rang from their small audience. Din straightened his cloak, approaching the other warrior.

“Talk to Bo-Katan, she’ll tell you what you need to know. Paz Viszla will be your first-in-command. You have a name?” he asked- not in a demanding way. People’s names were their own business.

The other Mandalorian nodded and reached to take their helmet off. Din paused. Sometimes it still seemed strange, watching a Mandalorian helmet being removed. But different Mandalorians had different ways, and as  _ Mand’alor _ , Din had come to accept that his way was as valid as theirs.

A dark braid spilled out down the other Mandalorian’s back, revealing the face of a woman. She appeared to be around Din’s age, and he paused once more, assessing.

“Omera of Clan Thorne,” she said, voice kind and musical. She actually smiled at him, not something Din had gotten from any of the sparring partners sent to him so far.

“ _ Olarom,  _ Omera.”  _ Welcome.  _ It was strange, speaking Mando’a so frequently now, but Bo-Katan had heavily encouraged the practice.

“Thank you,  _ Mand’alor _ ,” she nodded and her eyes sparkled.

* * *

Paz didn’t take long shaping up his new charges. By the time Din had chosen his eighth, it had been a week after Omera had joined the force. The earlier selected guards already stood on duty, at least two nearby Din at all times. He learned quickly to ignore the feeling of being watched.

He made conversation with them often. He’d like to know the people who were guarding him, it only seemed right that, if you were going to ask a fellow Mandalorian to shield you, you at least earned their trust. While he already had that trust with Paz - though at times it was hard to tell from the outside - he needed to gain more rapport with the others.

The youngest of the guard was 23, the eldest 56, and they all brought their own unique skills. Koska had made the cut as well, and Din suspected Bo-Katan was to blame for that sparring test. Bo-Katan liked Din being surrounded by people whom  _ she _ trusted.

Right now, Koska and Omera guarded the door to his chambers. He’d woken not long ago with no pressing issues being hurled at him, and he’d actually been allowed to sleep in for an hour.

Once he dressed and put on his full armor and cape, darksaber at his side, Din exited his rooms. Koska and Omera straightened their already perfect posture into something more deliberate, each holding a beskar spear, which had become a trademark of his guard.

“ _ Udesiir _ ,” Din said, joining them.  _ Relax. _ They were both helmeted, but he saw them peer at each other for a moment at Din’s request. 

“Is there a problem?” Koska asked, tugging off her helmet, addressing him in her straightforward, blunt manner. Fire always ran hot in her eyes, always ready for a fight. Din could appreciate that.

“No problem,” Din confirmed, glancing over as Omera slipped off her helmet. The armor of the guard was black and gold - again Bo-Katan’s input - and their beskar had been repainted as such.  _ Black and gold. Justice for the future, and vengeance for the past. _

Din’s own beskar still shined in its pure form. At first he’d just never gotten around to painting it, but now he liked the simpleness of it. Even if it made him stand out - as  _ Mand’alor _ , he was never going to escape scrutiny.

“You two native to the planet?” Din asked. Both shook their heads, but Omera elaborated.

“I was a foundling,” she said. Din regarded her with curiosity.

“I was too. Clan Thorne adopted you?” he asked. She nodded solemnly, a hint of surprise on her face at his remembering her clan’s name.

“Yes. During the Trade Federation’s attack on my planet, decades ago. I was young enough that I don’t remember,” she shrugged. Din nodded at that, then turned towards Koska, waiting for her response. The younger guard shrugged.

“Zanbar, born and raised.” No elaboration there, which Din didn’t mind. He was already pretty familiar with Koska. Besides, Omera caught more of his attention. She was unknown and he was curious.

“Has Clan Thorne settled on Mandalore?” he asked, leaning against the wall, hands on belt. Koska rolled her eyes. Din frowned, but said nothing, keeping his focus on Omera.

“Some of us, though not many. There’s a strong presence on Balamak coming out of hiding. But my daughter is with me.”

“Your daughter?” Din’s curiosity came out.

“Yes,” Omera smiled proudly. “Winta. She’s ten and very focused on her training. She wanted to try out for the guard too.”

Din huffed out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders.

“Who knows? Wouldn’t hurt to add one more. She could replace Reeves here,” Din prodded, earning himself a raised eyebrow from Omera and a long suffering half smile from Koska.

“Funny,” she deadpanned.

A beat of silence fell and Din took it.   
“Let’s go, I’m going to get some food,” he began strolling along without looking back. They’d catch up. He did hear their helmets slipping back on and the soft footsteps that dutifully trailed him.

* * *

The guards soon became comfortable in their routine, and so did Din. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be - they weren’t there to intrude, and he didn’t feel like they snatched away his privacy. They gave him his space, just close enough to jump in if there was any trouble. Paz grumbled about the job enough that Din asked if he’d like to resign. His  _ vod _ seemed highly offended by the suggestion and had stalked off when Koska started laughing.

One evening, six months following the establishment of his guard, Din sat before the fireplace, reading one of the books Sabine - the leader of Clan Wren - had given him on old Mandorian art and history. It was more interesting than he thought it would be, and he made a note to ask Sabine if she’d like to revive some of the ancient artisan traditions that were described. He liked to think that it would give his people a morale boost.

_ His people _ . It was still hard to think that. Not when it came to being a part of them, but when it came to being their ruler. The ruler of a whole stars forsaken planet, of a whole kriffing  _ creed _ .

A light knock sounded on the door, and he recognized Omera in the rhythm.

“Come in,” he called out. He turned around on his seat, twisting towards the doorway. Omera stepped in, fully armed and armored, and hesitated.

“Is something wrong?” Din asked, standing and putting the book down.

“There’s someone here. She said you asked for her?”

He’d never heard Omera sound so unsure.

“Hm. No, I don’t think I had anything set up. Might’ve missed something. Who is it?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say her name, but I’ve never seen her before. She’s not Mandalorian, and she’s not armed, but she looks like a fighter. I don’t know if she’s even supposed to be in the palace.”

Din hummed, contemplating that.

“Well, escort her in. I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle?” He gave her a soft smile that she couldn’t see. Omera nodded, gripped her beskar spear in a well practiced hold, peeked out the cracked door, and gestured to someone on the other side.

The mysterious visitor walked in, followed closely by Paz and his staring.

“Fennec,” Din sighed, immediately recognizing the intruder. “How did you get in here?”

“I have my ways,” the small sniper shrugged, her eyes scanning over the spacious room. “Nice set up you have going on here, Mando.”

Omera’s spear was still half raised and ready to strike, as was Paz’s. Din put a hand up.

“Stand down. She’s an old friend.”

“Well I don’t know her,” Paz scoffed. Din rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get jealous about it, Viszla,” he said, leaving Paz’s glare on him, then looked back to Fennec. “What brings you sneaking in? Fett need something?”

“See, I told him you’d catch on quick. Can we talk in private?” Fennec asked, eyeing the two bodyguards. Din shrugged.

“Sure.”

“I don’t think-” Paz began.

“I’m fine,  _ vod _ ,” Din cut him off. A drawn out sigh left Paz, and Din  _ knew  _ he was pouting behind that helmet.

“We’ll be outside as always,  _ Mand’alor _ ,” Omera put in, taking Paz by the arm, and Din was impressed at how she dragged the much bigger man out of the room.

* * *

Fett was calling on a favor. Din was pretty sure they’d squared up, but he liked Fett, and he didn’t think he could ever  _ really  _ repay him for his help when Grogu had been taken. So he agreed, without any input from his council. Bo-Katan had been less than pleased, especially when she found out he was leaving Mandalore to do business with Fett on Tatooine.

“Are you out of your mind?” she hissed. Din sighed.

“It’ll be a two week trip, tops. You can hold the fort down til then, I’m sure. It doesn’t take a darksaber to run a planet.”

“You need to take your guard. All of them.”

“I’m not taking my whole guard with me. We’ll draw too much attention, and too much attention on Tatooine is not a good thing.” Din pointed out.

“You say that as if the  _ Mand’alor _ being on Tatooine wouldn’t draw attention,” Bo-Katan scoffed.

“I can keep my head down. Look, I never asked for this job, okay? But I made a deal with you. I’ve held up my end of the deal - I still have the darksaber, Mandalore has been retaken, a new  _ Mand’alor  _ is seated on the throne.”

“You still have responsibilities, you can’t just run -”

“I’m not  _ running _ ,” Din growled. “I have a comlink to keep in contact for anything that comes up. Two weeks, Kryze. Consider this me putting in vacation time.”

She sighed and shook her head.

“Okay. Okay. Fine, I can spin this. Forging connections with the crimeking of Tatooine isn’t so bad an idea. We could use more alliances.”

“Please stop making this political,” Din all but begged.

“You have to take at least four guards with you, though.”

“One,” Din countered.

“Two,” She said, voice firm. Din hesitated, but nodded. Two was a  _ hell of a lot better _ than eight.

“Alright. I’ll choose them though.”

“Of course, _vod'ika_ _. _ ”

* * *

That evening, Din asked around. Omera was off duty at the moment, and he realized he didn’t even know where she lived when she wasn’t in the palace.

Still on the palace grounds, apparently. Koska was pleased to inform him of this, and he immediately became suspicious at the gleam in her eye.

A small area, almost a village, stood within the walls for palace staff. It wasn’t crowded and it was peaceful. Serene, quiet from the bumbling rush that always seemed present in the main building. The cottages were very nice too, not exactly high luxury, but well near the low end of it.

Koska and another guard, Myrah, accompanied him, and they directed him towards where Omera lived. They were quite diligent about the surroundings as he made his way down the various little side roads.

“This is it?” Din asked, stopping in front of a blindingly blue door. Koska nodded, and Din stepped forwards, knocking.

The door swung open and Din found himself looking down at a bright eyed girl whose eyes looked familiar. She stood still when she saw him, her mouth dropping open.

“It’s  _ you _ ,” she said.

“Yes?” Din answered, not sure where to really go with this. He was, in fact, himself. 

Koska snorted from behind him and then he heard her grunt when Myrah gave her a well placed elbow to the ribcage.

The girl turned her head slightly. “ _ Mom!  _ Your boss is here!”

_ Boss _ ? That was a new title.

Sounds of rushed scurrying came from inside before Omera appeared beside her daughter. She looked - comfortable; Din had never seen her without her armor, and it was nice. Just casual clothes, a long cotton shirt and some leggings, but she looked  _ good _ .

“ _ Mand’alor _ , I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting you,” Omera said. She put both of her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and stood behind her.

Din cleared his throat.

“That’s fine, I’m the one intruding. Just wanted to, uh, ask you something,” he fumbled.

“You’re not intruding!” Omera exclaimed, stepping to the side. “Come on, come in, please.”

Din hesitated and then nodded, brushing past Omera as he walked in.

“We’ll be out here,” Myrah said from the front, and Din nodded in acknowledgement. Omera shut the door behind him.

“You can sit anywhere, sorry the place isn’t the cleanest right now, I had double shifts yesterday and Winta’s been so busy with her schoolwork,” Omera said, only slightly rambling. Din smiled at that and he did sit on the far left end of her modest little couch. The space was homey, and much more welcoming than his own quarters felt in the palace. It wasn’t lonely.

“It’s fine. You should have seen my old ship,” he said, attempting to ease either his nerves or hers. It seemed to work for her at least, as she smiled brightly.

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” she said and squeezed Winta’s arm. Winta remained quiet and simply stared Din down with wide eyes. He shuffled in his seat.

“I’m planning a last minute trip to Tatooine. Bo-Katan is insisting I take two guards along-”

“Only two?” Omera interjected, surprised. Din shrugged.

“We negotiated. I’d like you to be one of them. There’s plenty others to still ask if you can’t,” he added quickly, tongue doing everything not to trip over itself.

“I’ve never been to Tatooine,” Omera mused.   
“It’s not much to look at. I have a contact there I’m doing some business with,” Din shrugged. “It’ll be two weeks long, so I understand if you can’t.”

Omera appeared to think for a long moment. Din waited patiently.

“I’ll have to check with my neighbor Cheri-”

“I can stay with her! She said I’m welcome  _ whenever _ ,” Winta butted in while craning her neck up towards her mother.

“Two weeks is a long time for watching someone else’s kid,” Omera chuckled.

“It’ll be fine! It’ll be like a sleepover, she said she likes sleepovers with me! It’ll just be a long one,” Winta said with heavy encouragement.

“Hm. You won’t miss me then?”

“Well, maybe some, but - you’ll be back,” Winta shrugged then gave her a wide grin.

Din watched them with amusement. He felt something like contentment at the mother daughter interaction. It made him think of his foundling.

“Alright… well. No hard yes, I need to make a few holocalls, but very likely?” Omera turned towards Din. It took him a moment to realize she was addressing him.

“Oh. Yes, of course,” he coughed, standing up again. Omera smiled.

“I’ll let you know by this evening.”

“You have my com code?” Din asked. She nodded.  _ Of course she does, she’s your bodyguard, _ di’kut.  _ Idiot. _

“I will … see you then. Again,” Din said. She reached out her hand, and Din immediately took it. It didn’t seem right to shake it though, so he just gave it a soft squeeze.

“Thank you, Omera.”

* * *

It wasn’t the longest trip Din had been on, but it was a long one. His new ship, the _Mudhorn_ \- one of the perks of being the leader of Mandalore - slid like a dream through hyperspace, devoid of the rattling sounds Din had grown used to on the _Razor Crest._

He had chosen the bodyguard Myrah Cadera as his second after Omera had accepted. Paz would be watching over things on Mandalore while he was gone, with Bo-Katan’s help, and Din felt confident with the planet in their hands. Fennec had left before they had, returning to Boba’s side in her own ship.

It relaxed him to be out in space again. The familiar thrum of it made his hands tingle beneath his gloves. While Bo-Katan had tried to convince him to take a hired pilot, he’d refused. If he went anywhere in his ship, he’d be the one piloting it. He’d been itching to fly for too long.

He sat in the hull now. It was too luxurious for him, really, but it was also nice not having to worry about the ship falling into pieces mid route.

Omera and Myrah had made themselves comfortable in the crew’s sleeping quarters, while Din had his own captain’s cabin that felt like too much. 

He’d offered it to Omera, but she had given him a strange look before refusing the offer and scurrying off so fast that he wondered if he had offended her. Myrah had declined as well, laughing and chortling out something about the idea of stealing the  _ Mand’alor _ ’s bed from him, unless he’d like to share it, and that had made Din blush in flames and thank the stars once more for the helmet.

He idly cleaned his weapons as he sat at the fairly sized table to the side. Myrah worked on her art across the way, and Omera sat close to him, watching. Looking like she wanted to say something. Din could feel her gaze digging into him.

“What?” he finally asked when he couldn’t take it any longer. He swore she could see right through the helmet. He put his weapon to the side and faced her. Omera pressed her lips together, then spoke.

“Nothing, really. I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

“Silly things. How we don’t know much about you. At all, really. You always ask about us, find stuff out, but I don’t even know your real name ... “ her voice trailed off at the end.

“Would you like to know my name?” Din asked.

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. If you’re comfortable?” she questioned, eyes searching his visor.

“Sounds like you do want to know, then,” Din concluded. Omera huffed out a laugh.

“It’s nice to put a name to the helmet,” she teased. “You can’t blame me for being curious. I’ve never met a Mandalorian quite like you.”

“I could say the same,” he said. Omera frowned.

“I don’t know about that. I’d say I’m pretty average on the grand scale of-”

“Did you- did you just say you were  _ average _ ?” Din cut her off, incredulous. Her cheeks darkened in a blush.   
“Well, yes,” she shrugged. Din snorted.

“I don’t pick  _ average _ Mandalorians to be part of my personal guard. You held your own and held it very well when we fought. You’re not anything close to  _ fucking average _ ,” Din said, offended by the idea. Omera blushed further under his words and his gaze, and she tucked some loose hair back behind her ear.

“I suppose. I think we’re getting a little off subject, though,” she smiled.

“It’s Din. Din Djarin,” he said quietly and looked away.

“Din,” Omera repeated in her pleasant voice. “I like it.”

“Well I’d obviously change it if I didn’t have your approval,” he added dryly, and Omera laughed sincerely at that. He couldn’t hold back the smile beneath his helmet.

“What else?” he asked. Omera furrowed her brow at him. “What else do you want to know?” he clarified.

“Ah. I don’t know. I guess the same questions you asked me? Where are you from? I know you’re a foundling, but you didn’t elaborate beyond that.”

“I was from a planet called Aq Vetina,” he shrugged. “Droids attacked the city during the Clone Wars. My parents hid me, and the Mandalorians saved me. I swore the creed when I came of age. And now, I’m here.”

It was a very watered down version, but Din wasn’t ready to give away everything just yet. Nevertheless, Omera nodded, hand finding its way to rest on top of his.

“We come from similar backgrounds, then,” she said quietly. “Even though I don’t remember any of it. I lived on Naboo during the occupation of the Trade Federation. Their battle droids killed my family. A Mandalorian named Khala Lodd was on the planet at the time, and she found me, got us off planet and past the blockade. She was a close friend with Clan Thorne, with my adoptive mother, and knew she had been thinking about taking in a foundling. So here I am,” Omera said with a smile at him. Her hand squeezed his.

Din nodded. It  _ was  _ hauntingly similar. At least Omera hadn’t been old enough to remember what it was like. They held each other’s gazes, deep in their thoughts.

“Hey, you got any ration bars that don’t taste like rokaria’an dirt fish droppings?” Myrah asked loudly from across the hull, effectively snapping Din and Omera out of the moment.

* * *

Fett had definitely made a name for himself on Tatooine. Din hadn’t realized how much, but they saw the effects as soon as they had landed at Mos Eisley spaceport. The town seemed brighter, and livelier, more hopeful. Still chalk full of criminals, of course, but that would probably never go out of style on Tatooine.

Din hadn’t even realized Tatooine had a palace until he’d heard it from Fennec. It stood out, gaudy against the desolate Tatooine sands. Fett’s flair for the dramatic only intensified the aura inside.

While Din expected a bit of a cantina scene to greet them, everyone seemed cordial. Nearly polite. Sure, there was drinking and loud laughter, but no atmosphere of everyone being on the edge of a bar fight ending with some body dumped in the sand to bleed out.

Fett sat on the throne like he owned the whole damn galaxy. Legs spread, body fully armored, and helmet intimidating. And while Din wasn’t personally intimidated by his ally, he could see where everyone else  _ should _ be.

Omera and Myrah stuck close by him, with beskar spears ready for anything. His own spear was secured on his back along with his jetpack. He wouldn’t be needing it in here, but he liked having it with him.

“Mando,” Fett greeted, voice gravely and familiar.

“Fett,” Din answered back, and they took a moment to stare each other down. Fett eventually laughed and rose from his throne. Din felt Myrah tense from beside him, but Omera seemed unbothered, reading his own reactions.

“ _ Mand’alor _ , huh? Stars be damned, I would’ve loved to see the princess’s face.”

“It wasn’t pleased,” Din agreed, and Fett laughed more. Din caught sight of Fennec across the room, near some stairs that he assumed led to other wings of the palace. She met his gaze and nodded, and he returned the gesture.

“Who are these? Friends or accessories?” Fett nodded towards Din’s guards.

“They’re not accessories,” Din clarified. Hardness laced his voice. Fett stared at him. Din sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “Bodyguards,” he admitted.

“Huh. Thought you could take care of yourself, Mando,” Fett stared at him.

“It was a negotiation. And I can take care of myself,” Din shook his head.

“Alright, alright. I won’t pry. Come on, we have some things to talk about,” Fett gestured to where Fennec stood at the stairs. Din sighed and nodded, and Fett led the way. Omera’s hand brushed against Din’s as they followed.

* * *

Business talk was something Din had always found exhausting. By the end of the day, seeing the generous chambers Fett had given him just made him want to sink helmet first on the mattress and fall straight to sleep. He frowned upon seeing that Omera and Myrah were still in full guard duty mode.

“You can relax. It’s pretty safe here, Fett has his own guards, you know. I’m not expecting you to guard me here the whole time. You’re mostly here to keep Bo-Katan from going off the rails on me. Again,” he grouched out, mood sour. Myrah and Omera glanced at each other before the helmets slipped off. Omera looked as weary as Din felt. Myrah, on the other hand, had the energy of a solar flare. He began undoing the clasps on his boots.

“You trust him that much?” Myrah asked.

“I trust him with my life,” Din answered, then held back a yawn. “You can go. Relax, hit the cantina, get an early start on sleep in your quarters,  _ whatever _ .”

Myrah raised a thoughtful brow before she nodded. She punched Omera’s arm in farewell before she disappeared out the door.

Din’s attention focused on tugging his boots off and setting aside his jetpack. He didn’t realize Omera still lingered at the door until she made a soft noise, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Din looked over at her and sighed.

“Go rest, Omera.” The words were not delivered rudely, but with a sense of affection in his tone.

“Not tired. Thought you might like company?”

Din chuckled.

“I’ve had  _ too much _ company today. But you’re not company, you’re-” he broke off, flustered as he held back his words. Omera sat down beside him, taking off her own boots.

“I’m what?” she asked. Her voice teased him, and he was sure it was intentional. Din’s face burned beneath the helmet when she used that deep tone. Stars, they’d been playing this game well on four months now.

“You’re … a friend,” he said, lamely. Omera looked surprised yet pleased.

“Thought I was just your guard. I’m glad I wasn’t claimed as an accessory, though,” she joked out. Din stilled, reaching over and taking her wrist. His fingers encircled it, thumb rubbing over where her palm began.

“Sorry. Fett can be a lot.”

“I don’t mind. He was entertaining.”

“That’s … sure, if you want to put it that way,” he laughed, tightness leaving his chest. He released her wrist. Quiet settled and Din shucked his cloak off. He stretched his arms with a groan as he did so, and Omera placed her boots to the side, side eying him.

“Do you get lonely?”

Din’s helmet swiveled and he peered over at her. Her eyes were closed now, chin leaning against a fist propped up with her elbow. The question didn’t seem malicious, but Din felt like she was inspecting him. He wondered if she liked what she saw. He wondered when she would dig too far and run away when she truly saw the man beneath.

“Do you?” he turned it back on her. Her eyes shot open, a concern in them that unsettled him further.

“You’re deflecting,” she accused - gently.

“Does it matter? If I’m lonely?” he asked, averting his gaze.

“It matters,” she affirmed and leaned forwards, trying to get him to look at her again. 

He didn’t. 

Instead he studied his hands. His fingertips played across the rich wooden table.

“Sometimes I like being lonely,” he frowned. “It’s familiar.”   


Omera reached forward and her hand trailed up to place her palm flat over his chestplate.

“It’s easier, you mean.”

He huffed out, squeezed his eyes, and shook his head.

“I … don’t know,” he admitted, voice breaking over the confession. He looked up at her again, and his eyes searched her face in the tension between them. “You’re beautiful,” he muttered out.

Something deep in her eyes flashed when she processed his words. A softness fell over her face that Din wanted to sink himself into, wanted to hold. He wanted her hand on him without the beskar covering everything, to feel her warmth against him. He reached his right hand up and tugged the glove off, and before he could overthink it, he rested the bare hand against the side of her face. He felt like his soul was bared as well.

Omera’s eyes fluttered closed and she made a small - nearly pained - sound. His breath hitched at it, and his thumb stroked over her cheekbone. Her skin was so warm and soft and she sounded divine and he couldn’t help but  _ yearn _ .

Her hand moved up to cover the one on her face, leaning into it. Then, then he leaned towards her, his head tilting, the cool metal of his helmet touching against her forehead. A wide smile came from Omera, and her free hand grasped at the back of his neck, just below the helmet, her thumb brushing through some of the wavy hair that had escaped. Din sucked air in sharply.

_ “Ner cabur _ ,” he breathed out.  _ My guardian.  _ Omera pressed back against his forehead at the words.

“ _ Ner burc’ya _ ,” Omera replied, and his left hand came up to the other side of her face, both hands now tracing across her skin, one gloved, one naked.  _ My friend. _

When he pulled away, a whined protest came from her, but he was taking off his chestplate now, and the remaining glove. He’d planned on leaving most of his armor on, as they were in an unfamiliar place, but he wanted something else more.

When he was left in his flight suit, Omera watching him curiously, he took her hand. His fingers laced with hers for a moment, then squeezed, before guiding her hand to his chest, over his heart.

“ _ Ner kar’ta _ ,” he said it with all the conviction he had in him. Omera’s eyes shot up from where they had been studying his chest.  _ My heart. _

“Din,” she whispered, raw emotion in her voice.

“You are. You’re so good for me,  _ cyar’ika _ ,” he breathed out.  _ Sweetheart. _ “I wish I was as good for you.”

Omera pulled back, gave him a heated look that made his heart stutter, and then she was on him and wrapping her arms around him in a full embrace so quickly that Din took a while to catch up. He held her in a returned embrace, and his helmet rested against her shoulder while she buried her face against his neck. He shuddered at the nearly overwhelming contact, but held tight, not wanting to let go.

"You are," she affirmed.

And he didn’t let go.


End file.
